Chapter 17 #2
Dylan returns mid-afternoon, and I emerge from my office to find him at one of the common area tables, cleaning the rifle he took on Kane's last mission. The sharp smell of solvent fills the space, familiar now in ways it wouldn't have been a year ago.
"Successful?" I ask, pouring fresh coffee for both of us.
"Clean extraction. No casualties. Got financial documentation linking Committee operations to several offshore accounts Kane's been tracking.
" He works the bore brush through the barrel with practiced efficiency.
"Money laundering operation in Luxembourg.
Kane's feeding it to federal prosecutors through Delaney's channels. "
"Good." I set his coffee within reach. "Cross called this morning. Committee's restructuring. Core operatives only, new players moving into the vacuum."
"How new?"
"Russian adjacent. Former FSB named Anatoly Kosygin. Building parallel operations, possible cooperation with Webb's people." I pull up the files on my tablet, show him Cross's data. "She says he plays rougher than Morrison."
Dylan studies the information, his expression tightening. "Great. Just when we start making progress, someone worse shows up."
"That's the pattern." I lean against the table beside him. "Cut one head off, two more grow back. But we keep cutting until the body dies."
"Optimistic."
"Realistic." I sip my coffee. "We're not stopping. Webb knows that. Kosygin will learn it. Eventually, they'll realize the cost of opposing us is too high."
"Eventually." He sets down the rifle, pulls me onto his lap. "You sound like Kane."
"I'll take that as a compliment." I settle against him, breathing in the warmth of his skin, the clean scent of his soap. "Khalid asked about weapons training again."
"What'd you tell him?"
"That we'd consider it if Dr. Voss approves. Start small, basic safety, nothing operational." I turn my head to meet his eyes. "He's processing a lot. Wants tools to feel less helpless. I understand that."
"So do I." Dylan's arm wraps around my waist. "We'll teach him right. Responsibility, discipline, respect for what weapons can do. Not soldier skills. Survivor skills."
"Exactly."
We sit like that for a while, quiet filling the space. In the background, the low hum of Echo Base operations continues. Footsteps in distant corridors, the ventilation system, occasional radio chatter from operations personnel. Safety. Security. What we're building from chaos and determination.
Evening comes with the kind of routine that used to make me nervous.
Khalid sprawls on one of the common area couches with his literature homework, annotating some text Dr. Voss assigned.
Dylan's at the table, working through mission reports on his laptop.
I'm at the other end of the couch, editing my latest article.
This one traces Committee money through shell companies in three countries. Not enough for prosecution yet, but enough to apply pressure. Every article chips away at Webb's infrastructure. Every exposure makes potential allies nervous. Death by a thousand cuts.
"Reagan?" Khalid looks up from his book. "What's existentialism?"
"It's about defining yourself through your choices instead of letting circumstances define you." I set down my tablet. "Why?"
"This book Dr. Voss assigned. The guy keeps talking about authentic existence and defining yourself through decisions." He frowns at the text. "Feels relevant but I'm not sure why."
"Maybe because you're choosing who to become instead of letting trauma choose for you.
" I shift to face him fully. "Every day you do homework instead of hiding.
Every session with Dr. Voss where you work through grief.
Every time you laugh at Dylan's terrible jokes.
You're defining yourself through action. "
"Are Dylan's jokes really that bad?" Khalid grins.
"Objectively terrible." Dylan doesn't look up from his laptop. "Painfully bad. I have a gift."
"See?" I gesture at Dylan. "Multitudes."
Khalid laughs, returns to his reading with slightly less confusion. Dylan catches my eye across the room, shares a small smile. Simple moments like this—homework help and terrible jokes—beat any byline I ever collected.
My encrypted phone buzzes. Message from Cross, flagged urgent. I open it, scan the contents, and the evening changes.
"Dylan." My voice carries enough weight that he looks up immediately. "Cross just sent something." I scan the message twice to make sure I'm reading it right. "Significant Committee movement in Prague. Multiple assets deploying, Webb personally coordinating."
He's already moving, crossing to read over my shoulder. "Prague was one of Morrison's major financial hubs. Webb shut it down after the prosecutions started—too much exposure." His jaw tightens. "Why reactivate it now?"
"She doesn't know. But she thought we'd want to know." I forward the message to Kane, watch the encryption protocols engage. "Could be new operation, could be meeting with Kosygin's people, could be retaliation against someone who's been talking."
"Or bait." Dylan's fingers brush my shoulder. "Cross leaks information about Prague, we send people to investigate, they walk into a trap."
"Cross doesn't work that way. She wants Webb destroyed, not strengthened."
"Unless someone's paying her more than we are."
The doubt hangs between us. Victoria Cross is reliable, professional, motivated by revenge and profit. But she's also a mercenary in the truest sense. Her loyalty extends exactly as far as her interests align with ours.
"Kane will verify through other channels," Dylan says. "If Prague's real, he'll want eyes on the ground. If it's a trap, we'll know before anyone gets burned."
My phone buzzes again. Kane's response is immediate and concise: "Verified. Multiple sources confirm Committee activity Prague. Evaluating options. Stand by."
So it's real. Whatever Webb is planning in Prague, it's significant enough that multiple intelligence sources picked it up. The Committee operates quietly, carefully, minimizing exposure since Morrison's fall. Large-scale operations draw attention they can't afford.
Which means this matters.
"We're going, aren't we?" Khalid appears beside us, homework forgotten. "To Prague."
"We're not going anywhere." Dylan's voice carries absolute certainty. "This is operational. Kane's people handle it."
"But you're Kane's people."
"Sometimes. Right now, I'm here with you two." Dylan meets Khalid's eyes steadily. "That's not changing."
The teenager processes this, some tension easing from his shoulders. Every time Dylan leaves for a mission, Khalid worries he won't come back. The fear shows in how he watches Dylan pack gear, how he stays awake until Dylan returns.
"But if Kane needs you," Khalid says carefully, "you should go."
"If Kane needs me, we'll figure it out. All three of us." Dylan glances at me, then back to Khalid.
My phone buzzes a third time. Cross again, with more details. Committee personnel include Webb's top operatives. High-level meeting, possibly negotiating with Kosygin's organization. Potential intelligence goldmine if someone can get eyes inside.
I forward it to Kane without comment. Whatever he decides, we'll support. But the journalist in me is already calculating travel times to Prague, thinking through cover stories, considering how to position myself to observe without being detected.
"Reagan." Dylan's voice pulls me back. "I see what you're thinking. Don't."
"I'm not thinking anything."
"You're thinking about going to Prague yourself. Getting close to the story." His expression is patient but firm. "This isn't journalism. This is operational intelligence against people who've already tried to kill you once."
He's right. The Committee sent a kill team to the hunting lodge specifically to eliminate me and Khalid. Webb knows my face, knows my name, knows I'm the journalist who exposed Morrison's crimes. Walking into Prague puts a target on my back.
But it also might be the story that finally brings Webb down.
"Just considering options," I say.
"Consider them with me." Dylan takes my hand. "I don't walk into danger without talking to you first. Same goes the other way."
Khalid watches us, silent but alert. Learning what partnership looks like. How trust functions when both people are competent, capable, and occasionally reckless.
"Fair enough." I squeeze his hand. "Let's see what Kane decides first. Then we evaluate as a team."
The common area settles back into evening routine. Khalid finishes his homework. Dylan completes his mission reports. I work through Cross's financial data, building the next investigation.
My phone sits on the table, screen dark but loaded with information that might change everything. Prague. Committee operations. Webb personally involved. The kind of opportunity that comes once, the kind that could end this permanently.
Or get us all killed.
I look at Dylan, at Khalid, at the life we're building here in the converted mining facility. Three months of routine. Three months of healing and structure and building futures. Part of me wants to protect this, keep us safe in this underground fortress where nothing can touch us.
But safety is an illusion as long as Webb operates. As long as the Committee exists. As long as people like Kosygin fill power vacuums with fresh horrors.
Khalid falls asleep on the couch around ten, his literature book open on his chest. Dylan carries him back to his quarters with practiced ease, and I hear their low voices through the door. Goodnights. Assurances. The small rituals that tell a traumatized teenager he's safe and wanted.
When Dylan returns, he finds me staring at my phone, Cross's messages still glowing on the screen.
"Talk to me," he says.
"I want this." I gesture at Echo Base, at the life we're building. "The routine, the family dinners in the mess hall, Khalid's homework. I want it more than anything I've ever wanted."
"But?"
"But I also want Webb destroyed. Want the Committee dismantled permanently. Want every monster who profits from suffering to face consequences." I meet his eyes. "And I don't know if I can have both."
Dylan sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. "You're asking the wrong question."
"What's the right one?"
"Not whether you can have both. Whether you're willing to risk one to achieve the other." He takes my hand. "Kane will move on Prague regardless of what we decide. The mission happens whether we're involved or not. We can trust him to handle it, or we can be there ourselves."
The distinction clarifies the choice. "You're saying we don't have to be in Prague to fight Webb."
"I'm saying we have options. We can support from here. Provide intelligence, analysis, backup planning. Or we can go operational, get directly involved, increase risk but potentially increase effectiveness." He pauses. "Either way, we're fighting. How matters more than where."
My phone buzzes one more time. Kane, with a longer message now: "Prague confirmed major Committee meeting. Webb negotiating with Eastern European contacts. Potential intelligence coup. Need surveillance team with language skills and regional knowledge. Evaluating assets. Report follows."
Surveillance team with language skills. I speak decent Czech, better Russian. My journalism took me through Eastern Europe covering intelligence stories. I know the terrain, the culture, the patterns.
Kane knows this. He's not asking directly, but the implication sits clear in his message.
We have relevant skills and experience. Our involvement could increase mission success. And three months of routine doesn't erase competence earned through years of dangerous work.
"That wasn't just an update," I say. "Kane's already calculating whether we're mission-essential."
"Probably." Dylan doesn't sound surprised. "And if he decides we are, we'll evaluate together. After we know more details, understand the risk profile, figure out whether our involvement actually increases mission effectiveness or just makes us feel useful."
"Very rational."
"One of us has to be." He kisses my temple. "You're already halfway to buying plane tickets."
He's not wrong. The journalist instinct, the operational drive, the need to be where stories break and history happens. It doesn't turn off just because I found something worth protecting.
But Dylan's right about one thing. We decide together now. That means sharing risk, evaluating options jointly, respecting each other's competence and concerns.
My phone goes dark. Tomorrow, Kane will send more information. We'll evaluate with clear heads.
I look at Khalid's closed door. At Dylan beside me.
Then I pull up my old press credentials. The ones that got me into Eastern European intelligence circles before.
Just in case.